The Loves of the Lady Arabella

by Molly Elliot Seawell

I spent several weeks in Sir Peter’s house, and strange weeks they were in many respects. I never had the least complaint to make of the kindness of Sir Peter or Lady Hawkshaw, except that Lady Hawkshaw insisted on investing my money, all except ten pounds which she gave me, charging me to be careful with it; but Sir Peter secretly lent me a considerable sum, to be repaid at my majority.

Sir Peter was actively at war with all the women-folk in the household, from his lady down, except little Daphne. He assumed to conduct everything in a large town house in Berkeley Square exactly as if he were on the Ajax, seventy-four. He desired to have the lazy London servants called promptly at two bells, five o’clock in the morning, and to put them to holystoning, squilgeeing, and swabbing off the decks, as he called it. Of course the servants rebelled, and Sir Peter denounced them as mutineers, and would have dearly liked to put them all in double irons. He divided the scullions and chambermaids into watches, and when they laughed in his face, threatened them with the articles of war. He wished everything in the house stowed away in the least compass possible, and when Lady Hawkshaw had her routs, Sir Peter, watch in hand, superintended the removal of the furniture from the reception-rooms, which he called clearing for action, and discharged any servant who was not smart at his duty. He had a room, which he called his study, fitted up with all the odds and ends he had collected during forty years in the navy, and here he held what might be called drumhead courts-martial, and disrated the domestic staff, fined them, swore at them, and bitterly regretted that the land law did not admit of any proper discipline whatever.

It may be imagined what a scene of discord this created, although Sir Peter was of so kind and generous a nature that the servants took more from him than from most masters, and, indeed, rather diverted themselves with his fines and punishments, and, when dismissed, declined to leave his service, much to his wrath and chagrin. The acme was reached when he attempted to put the cook in the brig, as he called a dank cellar which he determined to utilize for mutineers, as on board ship. The cook, a huge creature three times as big as Sir Peter, boarded him in his own particular den, and, brandishing a rolling-pin that was quite as dangerous as a cutlass, announced that she would no longer submit to be governed by the articles of war, as administered by Sir Peter. She was sustained by a vociferous chorus of housemaids and kitchen girls who flocked behind her, the men rather choosing to remain in the background and grinning. Sad to say, Admiral Sir Peter Hawkshaw, C.B., was conquered by the virago with the rolling-pin, and was forced to surrender to the mutineers, which he did with a very bad grace. At that juncture Lady Hawkshaw hove in sight, and, bearing down upon the company from below stairs, dispersed them all with one wave of her hand. Sir Peter complained bitterly, and Lady Hawkshaw promised to bring them to summary punishment. But she warned Sir Peter that his methods were becoming as intolerable to her as to the rest of the family, and Sir Peter, after a round or two for the honor of his flag, hauled down his colors. This became especially necessary, as his retirement was at hand, consequent more upon an obstinate rheumatism that fixed itself upon him than his age. There was doubt whether he would get the K.C.B., which he certainly well deserved, on his retirement; there was some sort of hitch about it, although, after the capture of the two French ships, he had been promoted to the office of admiral. Lady Hawkshaw, however, went down to the Admiralty in a coach with six horses and three footmen and four outriders, and, marching in upon the First Lord, opened fire on him, with the result that Sir Peter was gazetted K.C.B. the very next week.

Little Daphne, who had always submitted to Sir Peter’s whims, did so more than ever after he had been vanquished by the cook; and Sir Peter swore, twenty times a week, that Daphne had the stuff in her to make a sea-officer of the first order.

My infatuation for Lady Arabella continued: but I can not say she ever showed me the least mark of favor. But that she did to no one except Overton, and I soon knew what everybody in the town knew, that she was desperately smitten with him, and would have bestowed herself and her fortune upon him at any moment, if he would but accept it. As for Giles Vernon, she showed him what no other woman ever did,—a coolness at first, that deepened into something like active hatred. She knew he stood between Overton and the heirship to the Vernon estates, and that was enough to make her dislike him. She often remarked upon his want of good looks, and she was the only woman I ever knew to do it. Yet Giles was undeniably hard-featured, and, except a good figure, had nothing in his person to recommend him. I had thought that pride would have kept Giles from paying court to a person so inimical to him; but pride was the excuse he gave for still pursuing her. He declared he had never, no, never, been flouted by a woman, and that Lady Arabella should yet come at his call. This I believed at the time to be mere bravado. He was enchanted by her, that was the truth, and could no more leave her than the moth can leave the candle.

I saw much of Daphne in those days, chiefly because I could see so little of Lady Arabella, who led a life of singular independence, little restrained by the authority of Lady Hawkshaw, and none at all by Sir Peter. Daphne was fond of books, and commonly went about with one under her arm. I, too, was inclined to be bookish; and so there was something in common between us. She was keener of wit than any one in that house; and I soon learned to take delight in her conversation, in Lady Arabella’s absence. My love for the Lady Arabella was, I admit, the fond fancy of a boy; while Giles Vernon’s was the mad infatuation of a man.

Giles was much with us at that time; and I acknowledge I had great benefit from the spending of his prize-money—or rather, I should say, much enjoyment. He laid it out right royally, asked the price of nothing, and, for the time he was in London, footed it with the best of them. His lineage and his heirship to Sir Thomas Vernon gave him entrance anywhere; and his wit and courage made his place secure. Shortly after we arrived, Sir Thomas Vernon also arrived at his house in Grosvenor Square. We were bound to meet him, for Giles went much into gay society, as I did, in the train of Lady Hawkshaw. The first time this occurred was at a drum at her Grace of Auchester’s, where all of London was assembled. Even Overton, who was rarely seen in drawing-rooms, was there. Giles, of course, was there; her Grace had fallen in love with him, as women usually did, the first time she met him.

It was a great house for play; and when we arrived, we found the whole suite of splendid apartments on the lower floor prepared for cards.

There was the usual crush and clamor of a fine London party; and I, being young and unsophisticated, enjoyed it, as did Daphne. Names were bawled out at the head of the stairs, but could not be distinguished over the roar of voices. I happened to be near the door, with Giles, Lady Arabella being near by, when I heard the name of Sir Thomas Vernon shouted out, as he entered.

He was a man of middle size, and was between forty and fifty years of age. He might once have been handsome; but the ravages of an evil nature and a broken constitution were plainly visible in his countenance. I observed that, as he stood, glancing about him before making his devoirs to the Duchess of Auchester, no one spoke to him, or seemed disposed to recognize him. This only brought a sardonic grin to his countenance. He advanced, and was civilly, though not cordially, received by her Grace. At that moment, Giles approached, and spoke to her, and the change in the great lady’s manner showed the favor in which she held him. Sir Thomas scowled upon Giles, but bowed slightly; and Giles returned the look by a steady glance, and this stinging remark: